


Serrated

by CinnamonLily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Asexual Derek Hale, Don't Judge Me, Eventual Happy Ending, It will all make sense eventually, Lawyer Peter Hale, M/M, Multi, Rock Star Stiles Stilinski, Sort Of, as in someone being punched, general Argent family BS warning, hopefully, mention of miscarriage, mentions of child abuse, mild violence, or other slices of the past somehow, probably flashbacks, this is therapy for me okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonLily/pseuds/CinnamonLily
Summary: “What are you doing here?” Chris asked.“Why Christopher, I think—”“Cut the crap, Peter. You know you’re not welcome here,” Chris growled in a way that sent a pleasant tingle down Peter’s spine.He couldn’t help the sneer that changed his expression. “Yes, I know. After all, I’ve heard the songs on the radio.”
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 23
Kudos: 131
Collections: The Steter Network





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try to remember to tag things once there's something to tag. If I forget, remind me? Thanks! <3

* * *

Peter watched the line into the venue move sluggishly through the checkpoints. There were four gates there, and people queued around the corner of the huge building or the other way around the street corner on their way to see Stiles in concert. It felt surreal.

Back in the day, well, it was only six years, but still, Peter had been one of the people who had told Stiles he could do this. That he could channel his ADHD and anger at the world into something productive instead of destructive.

Peter had been a close friend of Stiles’s mother, Claudia. She’d been way too young when they lost her, and Peter had escaped into his career as a lawyer to deal with the grief. John, her husband, had escaped into a bottle for a couple of years, only Peter hadn’t seen that.

Stiles was ten when Claudia passed and Peter had only known him as the overactive kid of his friend’s, not as a little person of his own, really. He’d never been that comfortable around kids, even his own nieces and nephew.

It wasn’t until seven years later, that their paths crossed again.

He still remembered everything about that phone call in the night.

He’d blinked blearily at his cell phone, wondering what the fuck would make his high school boyfriend call him.

“Christopher?”

“Peter, I need help. No. No, Stiles needs your help.” The tone of his voice was so worried despite all the obvious Chris-like stoicism that Peter sat up in the bed instead of telling him to call back in the morning.

“What’s going on?”

“John’s dead, someone shot him on a domestic call he responded to. Stiles is barely seventeen, and we need someone who knows law.” The way Chris swallowed was audible through the phone. “You were the first person that came to mind, if you don’t—”

“No, no. I’ll help, I’ll be in town in… well, give me half a day.” He wasn’t anywhere near Beacon Hills, but he’d go, for Claudia.

**

The large venue was full by the time Peter made it through the gates. He smiled at the merch stands—several, because Stiles had always said how he hated to wait in line, anxious to be missing the gig if there was just one—and the young people milling about.

The opening act was always local, a band Stiles scouted out himself. This one sounded okay, not that good, but with clear promise. There were kids rushing in through the doors to get to listen to them, so it seemed they had fans.

For a while, Peter entertained the possibility to go get his own Stiles hoodie. They looked nice, the logos sharp and vivid, much like the artist himself.

But no, he felt barely at home in his jeans and boots, with a suede jacket pulled over a plain black T-shirt. He was such a lawyer. Stiles had always—It didn’t matter now.

He sneaked into the dark hall, putting on his earplugs as he went. He calmly made his way toward a good spot on one side towards the front. He wouldn’t go too close, not enough that Stiles would recognize him if he happened to look at the crowd that carefully, but close enough to….

Sighing, he leaned to the side barrier.

Behind the barriers, staff and security either rushed about or stood still, surveying the crowd. The band on stage was almost done, and soon it would be time for Stiles and his band to perform.

Peter was excited to see his nephew, Derek, perform live, too. He’d been roped into being Stiles’s drummer and somehow he had never left. He’d gotten excellent with practice, just like Stiles and the rest of the band. These days, only Derek was left from Stiles’s first band.

The crowd around him started to clap and yell their thanks to the local band. Peter clapped a few times in support.

When he turned his head to glance at the sidelines, very familiar icy clue eyes caught his.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

“What are you doing here?” Chris asked.

“Why Christopher, I think—”

“Cut the crap, Peter. You know you’re not welcome here,” Chris growled in a way that sent a pleasant tingle down Peter’s spine.

He couldn’t help the sneer that changed his expression. “Yes, I know. After all, I’ve heard the songs on the radio.”

Chris stared at him for a few seconds, then glanced at the stage. He turned and gestured at the nearby security guys. “Can you open this barrier a bit here, let him through?”

Peter didn’t have a choice. He rolled his eyes and waited for the men to do what Chris asked, then slipped through the gap and followed the familiar tense form toward the stage.

He didn’t need to ask if Chris was sure. He never did anything if he wasn’t certain about it. It was also enough to tell Peter that Chris absolutely didn’t expect to run into Stiles at the moment.

When they got to the wings, Chris grabbed Peter’s arm, pulled him through a set of corridors and then pushed him into a dressing room that was empty.

“Sit.” He tossed Peter a remote control. “There’s a live feed happening, they’re filming the concert and I was supposed to sit here and watch it in peace. Don’t move until I come get you.”

Peter saluted Chris and plopped gracelessly on the couch. He found the right channel based on the note on the coffee table and watched as Chris left the room.

He didn’t know how he got into these situations, but somehow trouble had a way of finding him. Or… the other way around. Either way, he shouldn’t have come here.

He would’ve left, but he couldn’t have found his way out of the bowels of the building if he’d tried. He could faintly hear the crowd roar and his gaze snapped into the screen. The lights were flashing as he turned the sound on louder.

Soon enough, he watched as the love of his life, his biggest mistake, pranced onto the stage, all attitude, eyeliner, black lipstick, and torn jeans.

“Good evening Seattle!” Stiles screamed into his microphone. “Are you ready for some fucking excellent time?”

Peter smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles bounced off the stage. His hair was sticking every which way and his makeup was running. He was so fucking sweaty and nasty, and he was riding the high of an incredible performance.

Chris stood to the sidelines and Stiles jumped into his arms and clung to him like a monkey.

“You did good, baby,” Chris murmured, patting his ass with one hand as the other held onto him securely.

“Can we? Before we go to the hotel?” Stiles asked breathlessly and heard Derek groan as he walked past them. Without looking, Stiles flipped his best friend and drummer off and started to gnaw on Chris’s neck in the way he knew Chris couldn’t resist.

Chris moaned and squeezed his ass roughly, then made another, apologetic sound. “Sorry, baby, not right now.”

Something about his tone pierced through the post-performance lust and Stiles pulled back to look at Chris. “What’s going on?”

And maybe he should’ve realized it was a possibility, but he’d done his best to not think about it. Even so, he knew what Chris was about to say before he opened his mouth.

“We have a visitor.”

Stiles clung to Chris tighter, then hid his face in Chris’s neck, just breathing for a moment.

“Okay. Where is here?”

“You don’t have to—”

“No, I… I think I need to do this.”

Chris set him on his feet and hugged him close. The embrace was tight as fuck, just like Stiles needed it.

He looked at Chris. “I love you.”

The corners of Chris’s eyes crinkled in a familiar way, sad as his smile was. “I love you too.”

Stiles took Chris’s hand. “Show me the way, I know you stashed him somewhere.”

**

Chris didn’t want to do this, but he recognized the need of closure in Stiles.

When he’d first heard him, strumming his guitar as he tried to get the song right, six months after Peter left, he’d felt anger.

And that was days before the lyrics came. Stiles rapping over an angry beat words that were still playing on the radio, four years later. Because Serrated Heart had been Stiles’s first true hit, and the world had not let any of them forget what Peter had done.

Chris opened the door to the dressing room and stepped inside. Peter stood in the middle of the room, probably thinking he was keeping his face blank, but Chris knew better.

For once, Peter looked scared. Good. He fucking deserved that.

**

Stiles stepped into the room, his high turning into a crash as he looked into the eyes of the man who had broken him. The first man he’d ever loved, the one who had left in the worst possible time and way.

He walked up to Peter, pulled back his arm, and punched him in the face.

It wasn’t until he felt strong arms of the second man he'd ever loved holding him back that he realized his fist was hurting like a bitch, and that not once had Peter tried to move out of the way.

_You didn't break my heart,_

_you cut it in half_ _with a serrated knife_

_How the fuck am I supposed to_

_deal with this?_

_Wear stitches the rest of my life?_


	3. Chapter 3

Battling his instinct to not take the punch was hard, but it was harder to see the utter rage in Stiles’s eyes. Chris holding him back wasn’t a surprise at all, Peter had known this was where the duo would end up. So maybe there had been fan gossip about them too, but that had only made sense instead of been his a-ha moment, so to speak.

He rubbed his jaw gingerly, then put a finger into his mouth to feel if his teeth were all fine and not knocked loose. The taste of blood in his mouth was unpleasant, but he deserved so much more than this.

“There’s a freezer in your dressing room,” Chris said calmly. “Go get some ice for both of you.”

Stiles turned to look at him and Peter couldn’t see his expression, but something stern in Chris’s suggested that Stiles was challenging the order. Or trying to.

“Fucking _fine_ ,” Stiles spat, and left the room.

As soon as he was gone, Chris pointed the long couch and they both sat down.

“The way I see it, this is your only chance to make things right.” Chris’s tone was the same exact one, but that said absolutely nothing because Christopher Argent was nothing if not able to control his demeanor when need be.

His father had beat all reactions out of him as a boy, and even at forty-two, Chris was still the same he’d been in his late teens.

“What about you?” Peter asked the most pressing question.

Chris snorted. “I’m not giving him up, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Peter looked at Chris, thinking hard and fast. “We didn’t end well, either, back then.”

Shaking his head, Chris glanced away before leveling Peter with a gaze full of… something like regret?

“At least that one’s on me, right?”

“What’s on you?” Stiles asked, closing the door behind himself.

He held a small bag of ice to his knuckles and tossed another one to Peter.

“The way he and I ended, back in the day.”

Stiles sat half on the armrest and half on Chris’s lap and cradled his hand. “Right, I remember Mom and Dad talking about it once. You got married, right?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah, my father made me date this girl called Victoria for appearances’ sake around my graduation. She fooled me into having sex with her one night, got pregnant, and then we were quickly married so ‘save face,’ except she miscarried a week after the wedding.”

Stiles frowned. “Well that’s all kinds of fucked up.”

“Yes, especially because Chris felt too guilty to come back to me after the equally as hasty divorce,” Peter drawled.

“Well it wasn’t that easy. Part of me wanted to cling to my family still. And….” Chris leaned his head to Stiles’s and tried to find his words, or so it seemed.

“And he was a bit of a mess when he found out his father had paid Victoria for all of it, including faking a pregnancy.” Peter hated it, hated it all, but some petty part of him still felt a spike of satisfaction at seeing Chris hurt by the memories. Peter at seventeen hadn't understood, and Peter at forty, while he knew better, couldn't forget.

“Jesus… I thought you were fucked up,” Stiles stated, looking at Peter, “But turns out you both are.” He patted Chris’s arm almost absently.

Chris huffed. “Okay, enough of the past.”

“Yes, Christopher is right. How about we get on with the situation at hand,” Peter suggested as he moved the ice on his jaw to a different spot.

Stiles sighed. “I don’t hate you,” he started, then smirked a bit and added, “anymore.”

“Fair enough.”

“But I’m with Chris now. He’s….” Stiles trailed off and looked at Chris with so much emotion, so much _love_ and adoration, that it made Peter feel a stab of jealousy.

“Right, and that’s not going to change anytime soon,” Chris murmured, his face reflecting the feelings to Stiles and making him squirm.

“So why are we even here?” Stiles asked Chris, frowning.

“Because I love you. And I care about him.” Chris glanced at Peter, but looked at Stiles again. “And above all, I think you have enough love to give both of us.”

Stiles gnawed on his lower lip, forgetting his ice pack for the time being. Peter watched as Chris took the pack and put it back on Stiles’s hand ever so gently.

“You’re suggesting some sort of a poly situation?” Stiles turned to Peter. “What do you have to say about this?”

“Not much,” Peter admitted. Then added, “Or… a lot. Depending on how much I let myself think about it. He’s not wrong though, and… I think this could work.”

Chris nodded. “Eventually. With some time and a lot of work.”

“Besides, you have several gigs left of this tour,” Peter reminded Stiles. “It’s not going to happen overnight anyway."

Stiles sighed and seemed to consider it. Then he nodded. “Alright. I’ll give you a chance to prove you’ve grown up,” he said.

Peter bristled and Chris laughed out loud.

“What? Like you weren’t acting like a fucking scared teenager or something,” Stiles snarked, and well, he had Peter there.

“How’s your hand?” Peter asked.

Stiles examined his knuckles and wiggled his obscenely long fingers. “Eh, it’ll be fine by Minneapolis and if not, I can change the setlist until Chicago or something, so I’m not playing the guitar at all.”

“How’s your face?” Chris smiled slightly at Peter.

“Handsome as ever,” Peter deadpanned. Then he winced. “A bit sore. Will have a bruised jaw, but luckily the menace didn’t manage to knock any teeth loose and didn’t hit my nose or eyes.”

Stiles winced apologetically, but then seemed to think better of it and said nothing. Not that Peter wanted an apology, hell, he’d deserved more than this.

Chris looked at them both in turn. “So we’re giving this a go, then? See what happens?”

“No grand gestures. No… anything ridiculous,” Stiles told Peter. “And no competition. This isn’t one.” He got to his feet and stretched, then yawned. “Shit.”

Peter remembered how much performing took out of Stiles, even when he’d still been a small fish in a massive pond by the time Peter had… done what he did and then left.

“Okay, well there’s social media and Chris still has my number. Contact me some way when you’re ready,” Peter suggested. “We’ll do this on your terms. One hundred percent.”

Stiles tilted his head, hummed thoughtfully, and finally nodded. “Alright.” Then he held out his good hand to Chris. “Come on, we need to get to the hotel. I need a good fucking before I’m too tired to.”

Then, without looking back, he led Chris to the door.

“I'll send Derek to come and show you out,” Chris promised over his shoulder, and then they left.

Peter relaxed into the cushion and tossed the mostly melted bag of ice on the coffee table. The idea of Stiles and Chris going to the hotel to have sex right then should’ve probably excited him. It didn’t, though. He didn’t deserve it yet.

“Hey,” Derek peeked into the room, smiling widely. “Ouch, what happened to your fa—nevermind, I know what happened.” He rolled his eyes and came to give Peter a hug. “I’ve missed you, Uncle Peter.”

“Missed you too, pup.”

The old nickname made Derek smile as he pulled back. “So, wanna get out of here?”

“Yes, please. It’s a maze!”

Derek chuckled. “These places usually are.”

As they walked down a corridor a moment later, he glanced at Peter. “Do you want to grab late dinner somewhere, now that we’re in the same city for a change?”

“Absolutely.” Peter slung his arm over Derek’s shoulders and squeezed him a bit. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


	4. Chapter 4

Their hotel rooms tended to have two beds, mostly because Stiles wanted to have sex before showering after a concert, and Chris preferred to sleep in clean sheets. So they had sex in the first bed, and then slept in the other one. It just worked.

They’d learned that shower sex wasn’t all it was hyped up to be when Stiles had slipped and banged his elbow into a tiled corner of a wall. He’d been unable to bend that arm for close to a week even though it wasn’t fractured. They were not doing much more than blowjobs in the shower nowadays, if that.

Stiles pushed Chris into their room and immediately kicked off his shoes. He left a trail of clothing behind on his way to the closest bed. His dick was definitely getting back into gear now, and by the time he pulled back the covers and dove into bed, he was fully hard.

Chris wouldn’t pick up his clothes, Stiles would do that later. They’d agreed on that early on. Stiles felt like he should clean up his own messes anyway. Well, mostly.

He watched, stroking his cock, as Chris got undressed at a more sedate pace. Chris worked out every day and it showed. He was tall and lean, with corded muscle. His training habits went to less bulk and more endurance and well, Stiles happened to like that endurance.

“What did you just think?” Chris asked, stalking toward the bed.

Stiles laughed out loud, shaking his head. “Not telling.”

Chris growled playfully, his eyes sparkling with mirth, and settled next to him.

He leaned in to kiss Stiles senseless. “How do you want this?” he asked, running a hand from Stiles’s shoulder to his hand, before gently dislodging it from Stiles’s cock. “You need help with this?

“I wouldn’t say no. After all, my hand is terribly hurt,” Stiles pouted, hoping to seem pathetic.

“Well, how about I take care of this while I fuck you, and you just lie there and be lazy?” Chris kissed him deeply, before rolling off the bed to find their lube.

Usually, post-performance, Stiles was more active than this, but the buzz had left him and he wasn’t going to say no to just letting Chris do whatever he wanted.

He moaned he watched Chris walk back from the bathroom. Chris had a spectacular cock, and Stiles really, really wanted it.

It didn’t take long for Chris to stretch him just a bit, enough for there to be a burn still because Stiles needed it.

“Grab the headboard, don’t touch yourself,” Chris grunted as he bottomed out and waited for Stiles’s body to adjust.

Stiles made an inarticulate noise, then tangled his fingers with the slats above his head. Holding on might’ve been too much to ask both coordination and ache wise, but he could try.

Smirking at him, knowing exactly what state he was in, Chris pushed impossibly deeper, and then started to fuck him hard and fast, the way they both wanted it right then. It went without saying, they were so in tune with each other, and that was why Stiles loved his relationship.

There were so many people in the business who fucked everything that moved especially when they were younger, but it got old pretty fast. Stiles’s situation had been… different.

He barely heard the punched-out noises he was making as he let Chris take care of him. And then, as promised, Chris’ grabbed his cock and started to jerk it in rhythm with his thrusts and Stiles was gone. Just… gone.

**

Later, when they were in the shower getting cleaned up while waiting for room service—because Chris made him eat regularly and healthily—Stiles kissed Chris’s shoulder.

“You know we don’t need him, right?” He made his voice loud enough so it would carry over the sound of the water.

Chris’s tone was pragmatic when he answered, “Yeah, I know. Of course I do. But I also think there’s no reason other than fear for us _not_ to try this out with him.”

Stiles hummed. “We’ll give him a chance to prove that he’s not going to run again.”

Chris looked at him seriously. “A fair chance, Stiles. I won’t let you hurt him out of spite.”

Stiles pulled away. “I wouldn’t do that.” He felt actually upset about the suggestion.

“No, probably not, but you’d write another song and we all know how dedicated your fans are.”

Stiles groaned and slumped against the tiles. “Shit. I can’t write another song about him, can I?”

Chris laughed. “Absolutely not.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a while to write this. I've had weird brain days due to RL things and stuff. I'm hoping to keep this moving somewhat steadily from now on.

Peter let Derek pick the place, and they ended up in an all-night diner.

Since Derek was a hard guy to miss, of course there were a couple of fans there. They seemed to be a mother and a teen son duo, and they approached the table respectfully.

“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you,” the mother started while the boy almost-hid behind her shoulder.

“No, it’s okay,” Derek said immediately. “I don’t mind.”

The woman’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled. “Thank you. We’re not local and came here to eat before we head back home. I’m Alice and this is Luca.”

“Nice to meet you Alice,” Derek said, smiling back at her. “Hi, Luca.”

The kid blushed, hard.

“We just wanted to come and thank you for the concert and the asexual representation. It was a big deal for both of us when you came out,” she said, pulling the kid closer.

“Y-yeah, thank you. I… I didn’t have the words, but then I looked into it and… and then mom listened to me and she figured she was ace too,” Luca spoke, not quite making eye contact with Derek or Peter.

“That’s one of the reasons I’m so proud of my nephew,” Peter piped up. “Not only is he a great drummer, but he’s decided to live out and proud, and that’s something I admire greatly, especially when asexuality is something quite misunderstood still to this day.”

Derek chuckled. “This is my uncle, Peter.”

Alice, probably knowing Derek’s general rule of not liking to be touched by strangers, hadn’t approached him in any physical way, but she extended her hand to Peter and they shook.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she said. “It’s good for you to be so accepting, not all of our family has been….”

“They’ve been assholes,” Luca snapped, then flushed and looked down again. “Sorry.”

“No, I agree with you, Luca. There shouldn’t be a reason why someone’s sexuality or lack thereof even enters the whole ‘do I love this person in my family or not’ discussion.” Peter smiled.

“Anyway, thanks so much for… everything,” Alice said. She was clearly gearing to leave them be.

“Do you guys want me to sign anything? And a picture?” Derek asked, smiling kindly. It wasn’t the ambivalent “I’m smiling because it’s expected of me” smile Peter saw in so many photos of him, nor was it the “I’m going to charm the hell out of you” one. This was genuine Derek.

“R-really?” Luca asked, his—or their, what did Peter know—eyes widening.

“You don’t have to,” Alice said quickly.

“I’m offering. You’re nice people. Besides, fellow aces, come on.” There was the charming grin, and Luca blushed even deeper. It was hilarious to see. The hero worship was obvious in their gaze.

In short order, Derek signed a notebook, a T-shirt, and then Peter snapped photos of Derek alone with both Alice and Luca, and one with all three of them. In all the photos they were close enough to Derek to almost touch, but not quite, and everyone looked genuinely happy and relaxed. The best kind of pictures if you asked Peter.

He handed the phone back to Luca with a smile. “There you go.”

“Thanks _so_ much!”

“Just don’t post them on social media until you’re back home. Someone would figure out where we are and….” Derek let the end of the sentence go, and both Luca and Alice nodded quickly.

“Of course. Thank you!”

Once the duo left them, Peter smiled at Derek over his now cool coffee. “I’m proud of you,” he said quietly.

Derek ducked his head a little. “Thanks.”

“I know you’ve been dealt a shit hand a few times, but you’re still here and you’re a strong man, Derek. I don’t say that lightly.”

“I know,” Derek murmured, knocking his boot against Peter’s ankle twice, an old way of his to show affection when he didn’t want to be touched.

“So, how’s the tour going?” Peter asked, and Derek relaxed infinitesimally.

They had a nice meal, caught up, and then parted ways in front of the diner. Derek got into a cab and Peter went to drive to his nice house in an upscale neighborhood.

**

The next morning, he sat in his kitchen, drinking coffee and trying to remember to eat his breakfast when his phone dinged.

_“Do you use Discord?”_ Then, after a few seconds, _“This is Stiles.”_

Peter felt his heart bounce almost violently. Then he typed with shaking hands: _“I’ve heard of it. I’ll make an account. Give me half an hour, my laptop is updating something.”_

_“Okay. Let me know when you have it installed and I’ll add you.”_

_“Sure.”_ He bit his lower lip hard enough to hurt before quickly typing. _“Thank you.”_

This was something. No… this was _everything._

Based on his chat with Derek, Peter knew Stiles and Chris didn’t need him. He knew they were happy. In fact, Derek had warned him off. He’d said that if Peter wasn’t sure, just tell them so and bow out now.

“I don’t want any of you hurt like that ever again,” Derek had said with conviction.

So yes, Peter understood that this chance was _everything._ He refused to fuck it up.

**Author's Note:**

> I've needed a therapy writing project and this is the bunny my brain latched onto. It may have been the result of seeing YUNGBLUD's Live at Brixton Academy concert. If you want to know what Stiles is like (somewhat at least) in this fic, you should check out the concert.
> 
> As for what will happen in this fic... I have a vague idea. There's a lot of stuff in my brain in scenes and snippets and eventually you'll get to see them in some order.
> 
> And please, PLEASE let me know if you like this. Because it's a therapy project, I'll need all the cheerleading I can get. Love you all. ~Cinn


End file.
